Telling Sally Off
by Ford.Ye.Fiji
Summary: Sherlock gets a case and he tells Sally off. John thinks it's fantastic. Rated K for mild cursing. Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock! Please, please review. I like feedback now. Feedback is cool.
1. Murder at the Theatre

**A/N: I know, this is a short story. I haven't quite gotten an idea for a longer one. Yet... Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock! If I did, we would have a new season by now and another one on the way! ;) **

The day started out typical. He woke up to the smell of burning flesh.

"Sherlock!"

He groaned. After the morning toiletries he found Sherlock holding a blowtorch to some body part, which he did not care to examine.

"Sherlock! What the bloody hell are you doing?"

Sherlock stopped and placed tool and test case on the table. He pushed his goggles up onto his head and tapped his fingers together.

"I'm working on what the purpose of Sterno Snatiation is an-"

"What is Sterno Snation?"

"Sterno SnaTIAtion, in more crude terms is but-"

Watson cut him off again and held up his hand. "Forget it, I don't want to know."

Sherlock scrunched his eyebrows, "Than why'd you ask me than?"

"Touché."

"You speak French?"

John sighed and sat down with a huff. Sherlock went back to burning whatever he was burning. The paper had a distressingly low amount of activity, no criminals for his clearly bored flatmate.

"There's nothing there, I checked."

"Hmm?"

"I said there are no cases. I checked."

John looked up from browsing the papers. "Did you check the website?"

"No, I didn't do the obvious thing. Of course I did, John!"

Sherlock clicked off the blowtorch and started putting his experiment in the fridge. You couldn't really call it cleaning up, just putting it in a sealed bag.

"Unplug it, Sherlock."

Sherlock stopped turned back and unplugged the blowtorch. "I was going to do that." He sat down with a huff.

"Sure you were, last time you said that, you almost burned down the apartment. Mrs. Hudson is still going on about it."

John flipped through the papers not even looking up from browsing when he said this.

"That wasn't my fault. It was... Not my fault."

Sherlock sat in his chair hugged his knees. Five minutes later he burst out, "I need a case, John!"

"Shush."

Sherlock grumbled and rested his chin on his knees. He closed his eyes. Not a minute later he opened one and glared at John. John was holding a piece of the paper and staring at it intently.

"John?"

"Shut up." He snapped. Than went back to reading.

Sherlock fidgeted. His hands on the arms off the chair, his bare feet keeping rhythm on the floor.

"Ha!"

Sherlock leapt up. "Have you found something?"

"Yes. Murder at the theatre. It wasn't in the front page though. Located down by the... Obituaries! Fine print, too."

Sherlock glanced down. "Hiding something obviously. Who wrote the article?"

"Doesn't say."

"Dead end there." Huffed Sherlock.

"A man was murdered. Johan Marksburg. Shot in the head. No one else was there. He was the only security guard and... The address is 240 Broadway Wimbledon, London."

"Yes! The game is on!"

Sherlock swept dramatically out the door. John didn't move.

"Sherlock?" He shouted.

"Yes?" Sherlock poked his head back in breathless from running back up the stairs.

"Aren't you coming?" Sherlock asked.

John pointed to Sherlocks blue house coat and pyjamas. "Dress?" "Yes, right." Sherlock shot into his bedroom.


	2. Sherlock is bored- Let us in!

**A/N: I apologize for my condition, Shortus Chapteritus, I'm working on curing it. ;) Disclaimer: I don't own the quote from Doctor Who and I certainly don't own Sherlock because if I did, I wouldn't have the slightest idea what to do with it.**

Sherlock was like a happy child when they exited the cab. John smiled.

"If Mrs. Hudson was here she would tell you, you weren't being decent."

Sherlock stopped looking excited.

"Oh, who cares."

He frowned at Watson. Lestrade was standing outside the building talking with several of his people.

"Greg!" Watson called.

"Who's Greg?" Sherlock whispered.

Lestrade looked up and visibly groaned, but he came over.

"Sherlock, what're you doing here?"

"I've come to investigate the case."

"Well, sorry. We've solved it." Lestrade smiled. "Without your help, for once. The guard stole some jewels and got nailed for it."

Sherlock looked him over.

"Your overly tired, probably up late at a pub or arguing with the missus, favor the latter, and you aren't thinking straight, especially since you seem to be trying to give up smoking which isn't working well for you, give me two minutes and I'll prove you wrong."

Lestrade blinked.

Sherlock gave him a cursory glance. "Who's Greg? Some new uneducated policeman you've hired? Wonderful. I hope you replaced Anderson with him."

Lestrade almost exploded. "My name is Greg. Ok? How many darn times do I have to tell you?! Not Gavin, or Graham, or George- Greg! And Anderson is always so cross because he has to put up with a bigoted thick idiot every bloody day!"

"Really? Who?"

"You, you- you're Mr. Thick Thickity Thick face from Thicktown, Thickania!"

"I am a high functioning sociopath. Not a bigoted idiot." Sherlock huffed. "And there's no need to quote someone's drunken rant to me."

"Why are you so desperate to undo all my hard work anyway?!"

"He's bored, and there's nothing on the website. Please let us in." Watson put in.

Lestrade groaned and ushered them into the theatre.

"I didn't know you watched Doctor Who." John said in passing.

"I don't. The missus does." Lestrade watched them walk down the corridor.

"Don't tamper with the crime scene!" He shouted.

Watson shouted back, "We won't!"

Sherlock's snarky comment was muffled when the door closed. Lestrade sighed.


	3. Case Closed

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock.**

"He's 42, rather old looking and unsuspecting but that's how he wanted to appear. Obviously takes drugs- look at the stains on his fingers- and he... Was a runner for them too. He got greedy and took a couple bags hoping no one would notice but, They did... And he payed the price."

Donovan frowned.

"They why did he have the stolen items? And how did you figure all that out?!"

Sherlock frowned and stopped examining the body.

"Cos he was finding a cheap way to get jewelry for his wife. No, they planted the evidence!"

Donovan fumed.

"Well how did you figure that out, freak?!"

Watson clenched his fists.

Sherlock continued, "He had pockets inside his jacket, sewn INTO the jacket actually, and the seams and all have ripped out, meaning he carried drugs. Why would they rip it out, Sherlock?" Sherlock said imitating her voice.

He was on a roll now.

"Because he stole some of it, you can tell because there is a residue of the drug, cocaine, in the empty pockets. They don't want people uncovering the operation so planted the stolen items on the body. Why would they have the stolen items then? Well, they didn't their cheap fakes- you can easily tell they are- and they could easily replicate them because there are pictures of them plastered everywhere!"

Donovan blinked and scowled. She turned on her heel and stalked off.

"Brilliant."

"You've already expressed that my deductions are brilliant, fascinating, and amazing in every word of the English vocabulary, John."

"No, telling her off like that. You should do that more often."

Sherlock smirked

"We should go tell Greg that you solved it. And you should apologize to, I know you know full well what his name is."

Sherlock sniffed self righteously but stepped over the man surrounded by blood and followed John.


End file.
